


babel fish out of water

by embraidery



Series: trillian astra [1]
Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, Gen, it isn't exactly introspection but neither is it a day in the life., just a look at how trillian spends her time in space, not much dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22920766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embraidery/pseuds/embraidery
Summary: Trillian settles into a different rhythm of life aboard the Heart of Gold.
Series: trillian astra [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1655596
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9
Collections: Purimgifts 2020





	babel fish out of water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daegaer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/gifts).



[ID: a moodboard consisting of three long rectangular images arranged vertically. They're somewhat desaturated and cool-toned, and there's a subtle bokeh effect over the moodboard. The first image is of a galaxy. I think the second is some sort of shiny chrome decoration on a blue car, a sharp silver bullet shape with a wing coming off the top of it, over a curved chrome indentation into the car. It's meant to evoke a spaceship or space technology. The third image is of a paintbrush loaded with orange paint balanced over a palette of paints (yellow, orange, red, and green). End ID.]

* * *

Trillian loved mornings. They were the best part of her day. She’d even go so far as to say they were the best part of her new and confusing life in space. She hadn’t loved them on Earth, though she made a point of making herself look put together all the same. But here, on the _Heart of Gold,_ they were her time alone. No one else was up. She could cradle a mug of not-tea in her hands and look out at _space._

Trillian hadn’t liked yoga on Earth, at least not the bastardised white-girl version. She’d allowed her friends to drag her to a class once after weeks of begging. She walked out ten minutes in. So when she did yoga here on the ship, it was only the moves she’d picked up through cultural osmosis: downward dog? something like tree pose? cobra? She fiddled with the gravity generators to allow her to do yoga floating a foot or two off the floor. She’d float on her back, hands behind her head, and push herself around the room with her feet. It was emblematic of the life she led now: doing Earth-things in a space way, using Earth-phrases to describe things no one on Earth could ever have imagined. 

“Those spaceships are a dime a dozen,” she’d say, Ford nodding along, Arthur off in the clouds as usual. 

“What’s a dime?” Zaphod would ask, half-listening. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Trillian would say, and it didn’t. Earth was gone. This was too big a fact for her to truly understand, like the existence of America had been back on Earth. She knew it was real, but she didn’t _know_ it. It seemed far too loud and brash and wild to be true. The fact of Earth being gone was a million times bigger, and she introduced the concept to her mind a little at a time. _I am the only person in the universe that knows how to do yoga. Wait--does Ford know about yoga?! Arthur definitely doesn’t._

So after her morning stretch and float, Trillian would sit down to breakfast. _My mum can’t make me waffles anymore, because she’s gone. Earth is gone._ After breakfast she’d go to her room, because she could only take so much of the trio of idiots and Marvin a day. 


End file.
